


Boss, Bed, and Beyond

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Smut, TomioneSmutFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: At the last minute, Hermione is asked to accompany her boss, the sexy playboy Tom Riddle, on a business trip. Which is totally fine...except...she's been in love with him for the past two years and has no idea how to even speak to him without working up a sweat. To make matters worse, they arrive at the hotel in France to find that the reservation has been "lost in translation" (read: Tom is a Slytherin expert at manipulating situations)...and there is only one bed. I wonder what will happen...Written for the Tomione Smut Fest hosted by the amazing and wonderful Weestarmeggie17, with the trope "one bed".





	Boss, Bed, and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear friend MrsRen, who alpha read and beta'd this for me. You are an absolute superstar! :D

Hermione arrived home after work and kicked her shoes off as soon as she entered her studio apartment.

 

“Hey, Crooks.” She bent to scratch between the ears of her half-Kneazle and then began to work on the zipper on her pencil skirt.

 

She had just stepped out of it and had lifted her arms to make work of her bra, when her fireplace sparked to life. Gasping, Hermione dropped to her knees and crawled forward, being sure to keep her pelvis close to the floor.

 

Her boss’s head suddenly appeared in the flames, still handsome even marred by coals and embers.

 

“Granger?”

 

“Mister Riddle,” she said into the grate. “Is everything okay?”

 

“There’s been a...development,” he spat. “Lillian has become ill, and I need you to accompany me to Paris.”

 

“What?” Hermione spluttered. “P-Paris? But I -”

 

“Stop,” he said firmly. Hermione’s mouth snapped shut. “Pack your bags and I’ll collect you from your apartment in twenty minutes.”

 

“Twenty minutes?” Hermione squeaked. “I don’t think I can get everything organised in that time, I mean what’s the weather like in Paris at the moment? I just - ”

 

“Are you a witch or not?” he growled. “Use your wand, woman, and make it snappy. Bonsoir.” With a parting grin, he disconnected the Floo call and disappeared.

 

Hermione let out a sound of distress, falling back to sit on her lounge room floor. She wasn’t the sort of witch who dreamed of real stolen moments between her and the object of her infatuation. No, she was the girl who preferred imagining romantic scenarios in the privacy of her own home, with no chance that they would ever come to life.

 

Travelling to Paris, the most romantic city in the damn world, with the man who was oblivious to the fact that he had owned her heart for over two years? Spending days - _plural_ \- with only each other for company; well, besides meetings, of course. It was enough to send Hermione into a fully fledged panic.

 

Thirty seconds after Tom had disappeared from her Floo, Hermione scurried back to the grate and tossed a small handful of green powder into the flickering heat. “Ginny Weasley!” She gasped between erratic breaths.

 

“Hermione?” Ginny’s face popped up amongst the kindling, a frown etched on her features.

 

“Help!” the brunette squeaked. “Tom’s asked me to go to Paris with him, for that damn conference!”

 

“Calm down,” Ginny demanded. “When is he coming to get you?”

 

“Twenty minutes!”

 

“I’m on my way.”

 

The Floo disconnected and Hermione slumped backwards again, relief beginning to wash over her.

 

Ginny arrived within the minute and Hermione scrambled to her feet.

 

“Okay.” The red-haired witch appraised her friend with barely concealed mirth. “So the first thing I suggest is that you put on pants.”

 

“Ha ha,” Hermione deadpanned. “I was in the middle of undressing for the night when he Floo’d.”

 

“My suggestion still stands.” Ginny shrugged and began to walk towards Hermione’s bedroom.

 

Ginny flicked the lights on and set about locating her suitcase while Hermione forced herself into a pair of blue skinny jeans.

 

“Underwear, Hermione,” Ginny ordered, placing Hermione’s plain black case on the bed. “And no old lady styles; you need lace, satin, anything that could be seen as date material.”

 

Hermione wanted to argue; she was going on a business trip with the man who had never harboured the remotest of romantic feelings towards her. What was the point of packing only sexy negligee? But the clock was ticking, and Ginny’s tone was firm, so Hermione did as she was told.

 

As Hermione rummaged through her intimacy drawer, Ginny was flicking through the walk-in-closet, using her wand to separate outfits. She selected two business appropriate suits with matching robes, two blouses, and a pencil skirt. When these had been folded into the suitcase, she returned to back of the closet and began to pull several sundresses from their hangers.

 

“Underwear is pack- ” Hermione stopped as Ginny lugged a massive pile of pastel dresses across the room. “What the hell are those?”

 

“Sundresses,” Ginny answered. “Now we just need some possible date outfits.” She pressed the pile of clothing into the case and then moved to head back into the closet.

 

“Wait.” Hermione gripped her arm, effectively stopping Ginny in her tracks. “Why will I need _date_ outfits?”

 

Ginny sighed, her shoulders slumping in exasperation. “You’re going to _Paris,_ Hermione. Just trust me.”

 

Hermione bit her lip. On the one hand, it was a bit presumptuous to assume that she would have time to even meet a guy in France, let alone date him, but she decided to humour Ginny, mainly because she still had to gather her toiletries, a few books, and shoes, and Tom was due within five minutes. By the time she returned from the bathroom, Ginny was sitting next to a fully-packed case. She stood as Hermione approached, slapping the top of it and smiling triumphantly.

 

“Thanks, Gin.” Hermione grinned appreciatively. “I don’t know what I would have done without - ”

 

She was interrupted by two sharp knocks on her front door. Her face drained of colour as her toiletry bag slipped from her grip.

 

“He’s here!” she whispered, turning wide-eyed towards the hallway. “Merlin, Ginny, what do I - ?”

 

“Go!” Ginny snatched the toiletry bag from the ground and pushed her from the room. “I’ll get this sorted, just answer the door - ” The knocks sounded again, more insistent this time “ - before he knocks it down.”

 

Hermione nodded nervously and smoothed her hands over her jeans before hurrying to the door.

 

“Mister Riddle!” She greeted him. “Hi, come in!”

 

He smirked back at her, looking oddly casual in jeans and a polo shirt. “Ready to go?”

 

“Um, yes,” she stuttered. “I just, um - “

 

“Here you go!” Ginny appeared at that moment, Hermione’s suitcase held in the palm of her hand. “I shrank it down so you can put it in your pocket.” She hurried forward and dropped the small rectangle into Hermione’s palm. “Have fun you two!” With that, she winked at Hermione and then apparated away. Hermione bit her lip and turned back to meet Tom’s gaze.

 

“Shall we?” He quirked an eyebrow, indicating that she should walk through the door before him.

 

She stumbled forward, fighting the blush that threatened to creep up her neck.

 

* * *

They landed in the foyer of a fancy hotel, Hermione dropping the Portkey as her feet hit solid ground.

 

A French wizard showed them to their quarters, and Hermione desperately hoped that they would not be forced to share a bathroom. _Do hotels come with separate en suites?_ Before she could ask the question aloud, the concierge bustled away, leaving Tom standing in the open doorway.

 

“Coming in?” he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

 

Hermione nodded and pushed past him. She stopped in the middle of the room, her grip on the handle of her case tightening painfully.

 

“One bed?” she whimpered. The room spun and dipped and she staggered to her right, her palm finding the wall and clinging to the idea that the world hadn’t, in fact, tipped on its axis.

 

"It'll be fine, Granger," Tom drawled, beginning to unbuckle his belt. "The bed is plenty big enough for both of us. I’ll sort it with reception in the morning, but for now,” - he kicked his shoes off - “I’m exhausted.”

 

“Okay,” she squeaked. “I can take the couch…” She trailed off as he stilled in his movements, fixing her with an indescribable stare.

 

“What?”

 

“I can take the couch,” she repeated quickly. “I don’t mind...I’ve slept on worse.”

 

He scowled at that and Hermione panicked; had she said something wrong?

 

“No.” He shook his head. “We’re adults. Surely we can share a bed for one night?” Hermione swallowed thickly, her cheeks heating at the timbre of his voice and the challenging glint in his eye.

 

She did not reply, but nodded. He smirked slightly at her silent assent and resumed his undressing. As he gripped the hem of his shirt and began to lift it over his flat stomach, Hermione’s breath hitched and a high pitched noise escaped through her lips.

 

“I sleep naked,” he said, his voice slow and melodic. “Is that going to be a problem?”

 

Hermione’s mouth went instantly dry. “N-no,” she stammered. “D-do you want me to, to turn around?”

 

“No,” he said. He maintained eye contact as he continued to strip, smirking at the way Hermione’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

 

“Mister Riddle, I - “

 

“For Merlin’s sake.” He tutted, stepping out of his trousers. “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me _Tom_. I’m your boss, not your best friend’s parents.”

 

Hermione’s blush deepened. She hadn’t referred to Molly and Arthur as _Mister and Mrs Weasley_ since their sixth year at Hogwarts, but there was no way she was about to admit that to Tom - who was now standing in nothing but his boxers. She used his given name in her fantasies all the time, and when speaking about him to her friends; but to his face? She shuddered at the breathless way she would utter his name aloud in his presence.

 

Lost in her musings, Hermione had missed Tom taking off his underwear and climbing into the bed, where he now lay, his arms resting behind his head. He turned to look at her with an impatient expression.

 

“Just get in the damn bed.” He huffed, throwing back the covers on the vacant side of the mattress. “I’m not going to bite.”

 

Hermione waved her wand to change her travel clothes into a satin camisole and shorts set; silently, she cursed Ginny and her stupid wardrobe choices. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, before sliding between the sheets and laying flat on her back.

 

“There,” he said, condescension dripping from every word. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

Hermione shook her head, and then realised that he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she whispered.

 

“Goodnight, Granger,” he growled.

 

Hermione sighed as he rolled over, facing away from her. The heat from his body wafted across the bed with his movements, and sent a faint smell of his cologne up her nostrils. She forced herself to breath normally, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth until her heart had slowed somewhat in its intent to escape from her chest. Feeling slightly more relaxed, Hermione allowed her eyes to close and she reasoned that she only had to make it through eight hours…

 

Four hours later, Hermione was woken by a groaning sound in her ear. She rose from the stupor of sleep slowly, first basking in the feeling of a warm body pressed against hers, and then beginning to take in the _hard length_ between her arse cheeks.

 

 _Shit_.

 

She reached forward slightly, feeling for the edge of the mattress; it seemed that she had scooted backwards during sleep, so she began to inch away from the warmth of her boss, back to her side of the bed.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” came his gravelly reply.

 

A strong arm wrapped itself languidly around her middle, tugging her back against him. He hummed in contentment, nuzzling his face into her hair. She shivered as his warm breath grazed her neck, biting down on the moan that threatened in her throat.

 

“Mister Riddle,” she whispered into the darkness. Her voice was weak, but he grumbled in reply. “Mister Riddle!” she called, louder this time.

 

“What?” He huffed.

 

“You’re…” she trailed off. What was she supposed to say? _Your hard cock is pressed against my thighs and if you don’t move it, I might do something I’ll regret?_ She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her body to stop reacting to his small movements. “You’re cuddling me.”

 

He chuckled, a rich sound which reverberated through her own chest. “Is that a problem, Granger?”

 

“Um…” she stammered. “I just - I don’t - do you - ?”

  
“Relax,” he whispered.

 

His hand, which had been resting gently across her stomach, began to move, tracing soothing circles over the top of her satin camisole. Far from feeling relaxed, however, his ministrations only left Hermione feeling more strung out than ever; it was all she could do to stop herself from hyperventilating.

 

Her breath hitched as his hand moved, circling up over her hip, dancing there for a moment, before retracing its path, across her belly button and heading towards her ribs.

 

“Mister Riddle!” she gasped, realising his intent. “What are you - ?”

 

“If you want me to stop,” he purred, “I will.”

 

Still groggy from sleep, Hermione could only make a slight noise of dissent. His movements stopped immediately.

 

“Granger?” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with concern. “Are you okay? I thought you wanted…”

 

“Wanted what?” she whispered.

 

“This.” He gestured between them. “I thought you were interested in...nevermind. I’m sorry,” he said, his tone clipped. “Forgive my - ”

 

“No!” Hermione’s brain finally caught up with the rest of her, and she hurried to force herself into a semi-sitting position. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I want to...whatever it is you were doing, I do...want to…”

 

His gaze had turned dark again as a predatory smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Please.”

 

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered.

 

In one fluid motion, he lifted the covers and moved, bracing himself on his elbows as he rested above her, before crashing his lips to hers. She moaned instinctively, and lifted her hips to meet his.

 

“Witch,” he groaned against her mouth, though there was only desire in his voice.

 

Tom quickly began to pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and down her neck. It was all Hermione could do to stay lucid; all her dreams from the past two years were coming true, and instinct was beginning to rule her head.

 

Tangling her fingers into his thick, dark hair, she squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself to be lost in the sensation. One hand had moved, now covering her satin-clad breast, kneading and pinching until Hermione was sure, between his mouth and his fingers, her shorts would be completely ruined.

 

“Tom,” she breathed against his ear as he sucked at her collarbone.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed between his teeth, moving so that he could look her in the eye. Hermione pouted up at him as his fingers stilled against her nipple and he smirked down at her. “You have no idea how long I’ve wondered what that would sound like, coming from your lips.”

 

Before she could respond, he was kissing her again, his hand now working lower to shove the silky material up her torso, his palm laying flat on the spanse of her stomach. Using feather-light movements, he began to draw lazy patterns, sending shockwaves through her abdomen. Hermione wanted to beg him to go lower... _go lower, dammit..._ but her mouth was far too busy attempting to match the ferocity with which he kissed her.

 

Finally, just when she thought she might burst - or worse, cry - he ficked his fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts, edging closer to where she wanted him most. A whimper escaped her throat, which he swallowed, smirking against her lips.

 

Slowly, he tiptoed his fingers lower, until they danced teasingly over her slit. Her breath caught on an inhale and she shuddered beneath him, rocking her hips to find purchase against his elusive hand. He grinned as she whined, slowing the kiss before breaking their connection and pulling back to look at her.

 

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed; her hair spilled across the starchy pillows and her chest heaved as if it were physically exhausting to experience the sensations currently rippling through her. He lifted his hand from her shorts and she pouted, her eyebrows knitting together in an adorable expression of frustration.

 

Without a word he leant back further, until he was sitting on his haunches. Slowly, he reached for her shorts again, grasping the hems on either side of her thighs. His gaze remained on her face as he slowly slid the garment over her hips and down her legs. By the time he threw the shorts on the floor, Hermione was practically catatonic.

 

_Godric, please let him touch me, please…_

 

Tom allowed his eyes to wander over her body, humming appreciatively when he noticed that she was not wearing underwear.

 

“Dirty girl,” he murmured.

 

Hermione bit her lip in a move she hoped was seductive; from the way his eyes darkened, she assumed she had done alright.

 

“Sit up,” he demanded.

 

She did as she was told, and before she could properly steady herself, Tom had grasped the hem of her camisole in his hands and roughly pulled it over her head. She squeaked, unprepared for the sudden movement, but giggled as he threw the singlet from the bed, where it settled on top of her shorts.

 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

 

Hermione’s chest clenched and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. Her eyes were wide as Tom leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers again. They were warm, coaxing, passionate, but softer than before. Hermione allowed herself to melt against him, placing her hands on his shoulders. He wrapped a hand around each of her thighs and tugged her to him, so that she was straddling his lap.

 

His obvious arousal poked at her entrance and Hermione moaned as she rocked her hips experimentally. With a hiss, Tom broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

 

“If we do this,” he muttered, “there’s no going back.” He swallowed thickly as Hermione threaded her hands into his hair, tugging his head back so he was looking up at her. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” Hermione whispered.

 

For a fraction of a second, neither of them moved. Then, without warning, Tom surged forward, claiming Hermione’s mouth once more with his lips and tongue. She moaned into him, her hands dropping to the back of his neck where she could press him to her more firmly. His hands squeezed her hips, guiding her forward until…

 

“Fuck!” she cried out as he sheathed himself inside of her.

 

He hissed between his teeth in response, his head falling backwards. With his hands still on her hips, he began to move immediately, building to a furious pace within seconds. Hermione matched his movements, bouncing on his cock until her eyes rolled back into her head. With the way he was supporting her, there was no need to cling to him, so she brought one hand to her left breast while the other snaked between their bodies, her fingertips making quick movements over her clit.

 

“No,” he growled, shoving her hand from between them. “Mine.” He leaned forward, his teeth latching on to her earlobe as he replaced her hand with his own. Hermione immediately shuddered, her walls fluttering around him. “So close,” he whispered seductively. “Already, Granger?”

 

His voice was enough to send her over the edge. The coil that had been tightening incrementally since she lay down in the bed with him finally snapped and she welcomed the release as she shattered around him.

 

“Tom!” she called as she came, earning herself an appreciative groan from her dark-haired boss.

 

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Now turn around.”

 

Before she could do as he asked, he claimed her lips again, his hips gently rolling, bringing her down from the high she had just experienced. Just as quickly, he pulled away and lifted her from his lap. On shaky knees, Hermione twisted around, her palms resting on the mattress as she bent over before him.

 

“So, _so_ beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than Hermione. “Perfect…”

 

He ran a palm over one creamy arse cheek, using his other hand to line his cock up with her entrance. Gripping her hip, he surged forward and entered her. Hermione cried out, her arms wobbling, threatening to send her face first into the mattress. As his hips began to snap against hers, Tom leaned forward and tangled her hair in his fist, keeping her upright. She whimpered, the combination of pleasure and pain threatening to overwhelm her.

 

“I want you to come again,” he growled. “But not until I say so. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Y-yes!” she cried out, though she wasn’t certain she would be able to hold back if he kept up this frantic pace.

 

“Good girl,” he cooed, and Hermione almost came undone on the spot.

 

He continued to slam into her relentlessly, muttering sweet nothings and relishing in the way her whines quickly became moans, her breathing erratic as her walls began to clamp around him.

 

“Uh-uh,” he tutted. Tom brought himself to a sudden stop, pulling out of her and letting go of her hair. She huffed in protest, but lacked the energy to truly complain. “On your back now, love.”

 

She shivered at the way his lips wrapped around the endearment, and allowed herself a moment to bask in the idea that this wasn’t just a casual romp for him. Settling back against the pillows, Hermione looked up at him beneath her eyelashes.

 

His chest was expanding and contracting at a faster rate than normal, and his hair hung in his eyes in a dishevelled way she could not recall seeing at the office, or out of it, before now. He prowled towards her on his hands and knees until he settled over her, a wicked grin slowly gracing his features.

 

“I want to watch you,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I want to watch you come undone beneath me, knowing that it’s _my_ cock and _my_ fingers giving you pleasure.”

 

“Then what are you waiting for?” she rasped. “Fuck me.”

 

He growled, a feral sound tearing from his throat, as he surged forward and entered her once more. She cried out at the suddenness of it, her eyes squeezing shut as she adjusted around him.

 

His fingers found her clit again, the bud still sensitive from her earlier orgasm. She tried to push his hand away, garbling out an explanation, “Too - much - ”

 

“Trust me,” he whispered, beginning to make his movements less forceful. “Just relax Granger; I know what I’m doing.”

 

She let herself go limp then, allowing him to take over and enjoying the sensations like electric shocks as they zapped outwards from her core. Slowly, she felt the coil tighten again, and as his movements quickened, both in his thrusts and the circles his thumb was tracing over her clit, Hermione began to rock against him, welcoming a second orgasm.

 

“Come for me,” he demanded.

 

“Oh, yes!” she cried, shuddering beneath him.

 

Her hands tangled in her hair as she came, her body writhing against the mattress. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth made a perfect ‘o’ shape. Tom moaned with her, their voices mingling as she squeezed his cock.

 

He continued to pump into her as she came down, eager to find his own release now. “You’re amazing,” he huffed, his hips snapping against hers in an arrhythmic pattern. “So...amazing…”

 

She watched his face contort through lidded eyes. He continued to look at her as his orgasm threatened, revelling in the way her cheeks had flushed a deep pink and knowing he was the reason for it.

 

“Oh, fuck!” he growled, his movements frenzied and his arms taut as he held himself off of her. “Hermione!”

 

Hermione moaned as she recognised her first name on his tongue. In all of her memories of their encounters over the past two and a half years, she could not recall one in which he had used her given name; ironic, considering the fact that he had been insisting she call him _Tom_ for the entirety of that time.

 

She basked in the glory that was watching him find his release, his muscles contracting in his chest, feeling him stretch her as he pushed deeper inside, and the way he collapsed on to her as he finished, peppering kisses along the junction of her neck and shoulder.

 

“That was amazing,” he panted in to her ear, dropping a kiss to the shell of it before gingerly slipping from between her legs.

 

Hermione said nothing, the cold realisation of what had just transpired finally settling around her like an unwelcome fog.

 

 _Holy shit,_ her mind reeled. _You just slept with your boss. Your_ boss _, Hermione! This is bad...he probably knows that you love him...what are you going to do now? I wonder if Ginny is still awake…_

 

“Granger?” Tom’s voice pulled Hermione out of her thoughts. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably as she took him in, leaning on his elbow beside her. His eyes had returned to their normal empty brown, but she thought there might have been a glint of something as he watched her drag her bottom lip with her teeth.

 

“Yes?” she whispered.

  
“Are you okay?”

 

“Of course,” she answered, her voice slightly strangled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Because,” he said, a slight smirk gracing his features, “you just slept with your boss.” His voice was quiet, but Hermione flinched as if he had shouted.

 

“I think you know I’ve wanted that for a long time…” she trailed off, unwilling to admit that sex was not all she wanted.

 

“I know,” he agreed. “But I also know it runs deeper than that.” His words were cryptic, and turned to mush inside her addled brain.

 

Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes as she wondered if it would be possible to get the next Portkey home. She wanted to do her job, but now that she had slept with Tom - and he knew that she’d harboured feelings for him for years - Hermione wasn’t sure if she could respectfully keep working for him.

 

“I’ll resign,” she said thickly. “When we return to London, I - ”

 

“What?” Tom sat up, frowning. “Resign? Why on Earth would you - ?”

 

“Because it was deeply unprofessional of me to sleep with you,” she whispered as the first tear fell, tracing its way towards her ear and then dripping on to the pillow. “I don’t regret it, though.” She added the last part with determination; it was true, after all.

 

“I should hope not.” He scoffed. “Merlin, for such a smart woman you really are stupid sometimes, Granger.”

 

“I beg your pardon!” Hermione forced herself into a sitting position and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Glaring at him, she clutched the sheets to her chest to preserve her modesty.

 

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I won’t accept your resignation,” he said.

 

“Oh really?” She arched an eyebrow, challenging him as anger replaced the chagrin. “You might have some sort of - “ she waved a hand, searching for the right word, “ - hypnotic power over me in _some ways_ .” She glowered. “But I won’t put myself in such a position. Tom - _Mister Riddle_ \- " she said forcefully, “ - I don’t want to stop working for you, but it’s been hard enough over the past two years seeing you every day, knowing I can’t…” she trailed off, her throat tight.

 

She glanced up at him again; his face was no longer smiling, and his eyes were hard. Part of her knew she should just stop talking, but the feelings she had kept a secret for so long were not receptive to her attempts at silencing them; it seemed fucking the man she had been pining over rendered her better judgment mute.

 

“Granger, I - ”

 

She cut him off. “I know you don’t think of me like that, and I don’t want to put you in a position where - ”

 

He silenced her by pushing her back down on to the bed and kissing her, his tongue swiftly entering her mouth with an impatient growl. She melted against him, unable to control her basic urges even when her conscience screamed at her to stop.

 

“Do you - “ he pecked her on the lips again “ - _ever_ \- “ he nuzzled her neck “ - stop - fucking - _talking_?”

 

“No?” she squeaked as his teeth sank into the skin of her shoulder.

 

“Merlin, woman.” He huffed. “Listen, for five seconds; please?”

 

“Okay,” she mumbled, too shocked to continue her rant.

 

“I know you’ve wanted me for a long time.” He raised his head to look into her eyes. “And I’m not going to lie to you and spin some bullshit story about how I’ve been writing our names in love hearts over my files or anything like that…”

 

Hermione blushed. “You don’t have to justify - ”

 

“Shh!” he insisted, placing a finger over her lips. “Just _listen_!” She huffed, but pressed her lips together. “ _Thank you,_ ” he drawled. “As I was saying...I’m not going to feed you bullshit.” His voice softened as he continued. “But you should know that your feelings are not unrequited; I’ve…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.

 

Hermione reached up, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve what, Tom?” she whispered.

 

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for months,” he whispered back, “but I didn’t want to scare you off. I know I can be a little...intense.”

 

Hermione laughed, a deep belly laugh which filled the room. “I’ve been in love with you for years.” She smirked up at him. “I know you can be a little more than _intense_. And…” she trailed off, her lips settling back into a thin line of seriousness, “...it doesn’t scare me.”

 

He stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Good,” he growled, repositioning himself so he was looming over her again. She bit her lip as she recognised the wicked look in his eye. “Now, if you don’t have any further objections, I’m going to erase the idea of resignation from your mind.”

 

“Oh?” She smiled up at him coyly. “And how do you plan to do that?”

 

“Like this.” He hissed between his teeth as he slid into her again.

 

“Tom!” she moaned.

 

“That’s my name, sweetheart,” he growled into her ear. “Don’t wear it out.”

 


End file.
